A Scarlet Cord of Hope

Acknowledgements

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lords favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.

- Isaiah 61:1-3

I am forever grateful to my husband Doug who has supported and encouraged me without hesitation. He continues to cheer me on with each and every thing I strive to do. He is without a doubt my KISA. Thank you for your unconditional love and support. I love you always!

My daughter Lauren - you will always be my angel girl. I am proud of who you are. I am grateful for our son-in-law Stephen - you are the answers to a mother’s prayers. I love you both!

My son Garic - you are my sonshine forever and always. I know God has a plan and a purpose for your life and I look forward to watching it unfold in your life. I love you more!

I am thankful for a group of women who trusted me enough and were willing to take off their masks to help shape and mold the Strands of Hope questions at the end of each chapter. I am grateful for your input, encouragement and support. Kim Bindel, Annie Brown, René Claybrook, Kara Coats, Suzette Greer, Gwyn Griffeth, Karla Henry, Renee Patterson, Marcy Shore and Laura Spence - you will always be my Beauties.

I want to thank Mike and Paula Parker for your continued support and encouragement with this project. I am honored to be counted as one of your authors!

I also want to thank all of you who have taken time to email, write or speak to me over the years, encouraging me and letting me know I am not alone. Your words, tokens of love and appreciation, and prayers mean the world to me and I am grateful for You!

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all who walk through life with their scarlet cord of guilt, shame and fear. I pray that as you read this book you will begin to see your scarlet cord as A Scarlet Cord of Hope.

There is always Hope!

What’s New

What is new?

If you’re familiar with A Scarlet Cord of Hope, and have read the first edition, you will find this edition has more detail and information. I have also included a few pivotal chapters that have happened since the release of the original book in 2010. At the end of each chapter you’ll still find the What I Know Now section that serves to give facts, insight or scriptures that correlate with that particular chapter. I have also added five Strands of Hope questions that were created to be self-reflective or used as a small group study. These questions are designed to help you in your journey towards hope.

Chapter 1

The Beginning

For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, and my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth; Your eyes have seen my unformed substance. And in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.

- Psalm 139:13-16

The year was 1965 and life, as two young people knew it, was about to change. They exchanged wedding vows and promised to love and honor one another in front of the young man’s family. Everyone knew why they were getting married, although it wasn’t yet obvious.

I often wonder, if my mother had not become pregnant with me, would they have married? Would they have dated more than the few times they did before she became pregnant? Did they even love one another?

In spite of the odds against them, they did what was expected, and in turn each hoped for the best. Somewhere within the five and half years they were married the alcohol abuse, the accusations and the arguments opened the door for that hope to become a distant memory. The divorce that followed in 1972 was filled with anger and deceit.

As a mere child of five years old, I began my journey of taking responsibility for other people’s choices and behavior. I felt responsible for the demise of my family and the pain and anger that my parents openly showed in front of me. Each one telling stories of betrayal, abuse and instability.

I have memories of them arguing and yelling at one another. One time in particular they were in the kitchen and their voices quickly escalated. I was in the front room watching TV. As I glanced towards the kitchen a huge knot formed in my stomach. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the tone and the angry words. My dad realized I was listening and told me to go to my bedroom. I immediately jumped up and obeyed. As I sat on my bed, someone closed my bedroom door. I heard more yelling and then crying. I grabbed my doll and blanket, and I clutched them both tightly to my chest as tears began to form in my eyes.

I wanted to run to the kitchen and hug my parents in hopes of stopping them from the angry words they hurled at one another. I didn’t understand why they were fighting; but I thought I was somehow responsible. If only I had been better! More guilt heaped upon my heart when I realized I didn’t have the courage to open the door and tell them I was sorry.

I was in the middle of my kindergarten year when they agreed I would finish out the school year and continue to live with my dad, while my mom chose to move several hours away to live with her sister and brother-in-law. What happened after that depends on who you ask. According to my dad, my mom willingly signed legal documents giving him permanent custody of me before she moved out. My mom says she signed the documents, but there was a verbal agreement between them stating that at the end of the school year she would have permanent custody of me and I would live with her.

Shortly after my mom moved out, Dad and I left the duplex where we had lived and moved in with his parents. My grandparents did everything they could to comfort and shield me from harsh reality of what was going on. I kept my feelings of guilt and sadness within my heart. I tried not to cry when I found myself sad or missing my mom, because I knew it made my dad feel bad.

After the initial divorce settlement, my dad gained permanent full custody of me. The judge awarded my mom with two yearly visitations - a week the day after Christmas and two weeks in the summer. She was allowed to call me once a week on Sunday evenings. My mom was shocked with the judge’s order and vowed to keep fighting to gain full custody of me.

The court battles continued, and during one of the last hearings the judge wanted to hear from me. A Child Advocate Attorney was appointed to me.

I was prepped by both parents as to whom the woman I would be talking to was and the importance of what I was to say. The day finally arrived when I met with her. I was nervous. The situation weighed heavy on my heart. I tried to recall what both parents told me to say. I couldn’t remember which parent told me what, and all of the earlier insecurities of my first years came rushing back, making me feel that no matter what I said, it was going to be the wrong answer. I wanted to believe that I held a magic key to getting my family back together. I wanted to say the right things to make it all work.

I don’t recall all of her questions or how I answered, but I do recall telling her I wanted to live with both of my parents. Her response was short and filled with sympathy. I am sorry Sheryl, that doesn’t appear to be an option today. I left her office wondering if I said the right things to make everyone happy. I wondered if she would tell anyone what I said. I continued to keep everything locked inside.

What I Know Now

God purposed me to be born with the specific DNA of each of my parents. My parents may not have planned me, but God did. I was not an accident.

I was not responsible for the end of my parents’ marriage.

It is natural for children of divorced parents to feel confused and want to live with both parents.

My parents (unintentionally) put me in the middle of their divorce and feelings for one another. This opened the door for guilt and shame to form in my mind and heart.

Divorce affects the whole family. Children and adults will cope differently. Children do not have the emotional maturity or verbal communication skills needed to fully communicate their feelings and they will often tell each parent what they think they want to hear.

Each year a million children are affected by divorce.

Strands of Hope

Read Psalm 139: 1-16. In what ways can you start choosing to live as if you believe this scripture is truth and meant for you?

Can you recall a time when you were a child and you wanted to please two adults with different agendas at the same time? What was the result?

Looking back with wisdom and insight that you have now, what would you tell a child who is struggling to please two adults who are in disagreement?

Has divorce or a fractured relationship affected your life (via yourself, parents, family, or friends)?

What are some key elements in helping a child cope in a situation with divorced parents?

Chapter 2

Visitation with My Mom

Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.

- John 14:27

Shortly after my parents’ divorce was final, they each remarried on the same day, in same state, and each bride was ‘with child’. I am the ‘only child’ between my parents. I am the oldest of six children in my dad’s home and the oldest of two in my mom’s home. Between the ages of six and fifteen, I grew up with my dad, stepmom, her two sons from a previous marriage, and three much younger half-siblings.

During our visits, my mom sometimes wanted to have a talk with me. These conversations always made me nervous. She told me terrible things about my dad, disturbing things about their marriage. Then she asked question, usually pertaining to herself. I frantically searched my memories, trying to find the right answer she was looking for. These questions usually pertained to things about her…Sheryl, if you could change one thing about me, what would it be? One time I recall nervously answering that I wished she would quit smoking. At the time it seemed like a safe answer. She took a longer-than-normal drag on her cigarette, smiled at my stepdad and said, Well, that’s not going to change. The smile she shared with my stepdad gave me relief. I had picked something that did not make her sad.

Time spent with my mom always included fun trips, new clothes and quality time. My mom always made sure we went somewhere fun. There were trips to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, parks and fairs. We enjoyed playing games together. One of my favorites, at that time, was The Peanut Butter and Jelly board game. I loved that game. I frequently cheated to ensure either my mom or I won, and that my stepdad lost. At my request, they also played house or doctor with me. When we played house, Mom and I were good people, while my stepdad was always relegated to being a stranger or a bad person. Whenever I got the doctor kit out, I was always the doctor and my mom the nurse, while my stepdad had to be the sick patient. It never failed: whatever ailed him, Dr. Sheryl had the cure - and it usually involved a shot, sometimes more than one shot. I made sure those injections went firmly into his arm. He was always a brave patient and had a smile on his face.

Looking back, I know that I was influenced by my dad’s comments about my stepdad. Unfortunately, I was not very kind to him. It’s not that I was a competitive person. I didn’t have to win the games, as long as he didn’t win. He seemed to understand that the reason I responded to him the way I did was because of my situation.

All too soon each visit reached another ending. As we headed towards the airport, I knew that our relationship would be back to a short phone call on the weekends and the homemade cards she would send me in the mail. It would be six months before we would see each other again.

On the way home to my dad’s house, I would play back the picture of my mom in my mind - her beautiful, long blonde hair, her makeup applied to perfection, even her smell. She frequently applied Rose Milk hand lotion, so she always smelled of roses. Her home was always nice and clean, and had a loving feel - beds always made, laundry always put away, ashtrays always emptied and cleaned at night, and cupboards were orderly, dishes never stayed in the sink, counters always clean and free of clutter. The